


Cut My Brakes and Hit the Throttle

by insert_yelling_here



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, I May Continue/Will Add Tags As I Go, M/M, Minor Prussia/Hungary (Hetalia), Prostitution, Rated Explicit for Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insert_yelling_here/pseuds/insert_yelling_here
Summary: “You have cash?”“I have cash.”





	Cut My Brakes and Hit the Throttle

**Author's Note:**

> song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nel_hT0ZQHA

Not what he thought he’d be doing this afternoon, Antonio can admit. Gilbert had been joking, but Francis must’ve taken him seriously, and Gilbert wasn’t one to resist this kind of opportunity. If Antonio’s being fair, he’s not one to turn this down either, but if he’s being honest, he’s also not entirely comfortable. But he keeps walking down the sidewalk.

“The Shout” is a lot of fun, according to Francis, who’s been to practically every night and strip club world-wide. That might be an exaggeration but the guy is seriously promiscuous, which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t shy away from any emotional vulnerability; he’s got some commitment issues. 

“Alright, Antonio?” Francis asks.

Antonio laughs nervously, glad that Francis can’t read his thoughts. “Yeah, totally.”

Gilbert snorts on the other side of him. “It’s okay, little virgin, we’ll get you loose soon enough.”

Antonio shoves him, but he has a grin on his face. “Stop with the fucking pimp-attitude Gil, I’m not even a virgin and you’re not even funny.”

“Fuck you, I’m hilarious.”

Francis laughs along with them. “Is Ludwig going to join us?”

Gilbert feigns shock. “No! He’s only a child!”

“He’s twenty, Gil.”

“Can’t even drink, bless his soul.”

They round the corner and make their way to where the bouncer is standing. There’s a line and the air is thick with gasoline from the unbelievable traffic in Las Vegas. The streets are dirty, but not filthy; there’s trash but it’s not like someone took a shit in the road. There’s a man with a long beard and clothes that are much too hot for summer asking for money across the street. Antonio would give him something if he wasn’t legitimately scared of being run over.

Antonio walks past a break in the buildings that lead into an alleyway. There’re men standing there, three men, that are all dressed well, like they’re going to a cocktail party, a blond and two brunets. One of the brunets turns and meets Antonio’s glance with his own. Viridescent. Damn, that’s a stupidly sophisticated word. His eyes are green, why can’t Antonio just think of the word “green” instead of “viridescent”. Antonio passes the alleyway. The man was frowning.

Antonio gets in line and shows the bouncer his ID when it’s his turn. Gilbert, Francis, and him find seats at the bar.

“Three Captain Morgan’s double-shots, please.” Gilbert winks at the bartender, who rolls her eyes, then grins at Antonio and Francis.

“How fast are you planning to pass out?”

The bartender sets the shots down and Gilbert passes her his credit card. “Stop bitchin’.” He downs his shot and shudders before smiling wide.

Francis takes his own shot with grace. Antonio sighs and picks up his own double-shot.

“Wanna make a toast, spaniard?”

Antonio laughs. “To Las Vegas!” He throws the shot back and feels the rum burn down his throat and threaten to come back up for a second before settling. 

Half-naked girls are pole-dancing and men are crowded around them, throwing money, and sometimes being allowed to tuck money into a girl’s bra or underwear. Gilbert gets a beer, Francis gets a cocktail, and Antonio takes another double-shot, Greygoose vodka this time. Mixing liquor always ends up in a headache the next morning, but Antonio wants to get a little fucked up.

They take a seat near one of the dancing girls, a beautiful brunette with sparkling bottle-green eyes who seems to be interested in their group. She’s making direct eye-contact with Gilbert, who hasn’t drank from his beer in at least ten minutes (and is very possibly drooling). Francis is talking animatedly with other people in the club and is acquiring quite the collection of shot, cocktail, and wine glasses. He’ll be wasted by the end of the night. Worst case scenario; Antonio or Gilbert will have to carry him to their hotel room. Best case scenario; Francis only makes out with a couple of people and is able to stumble alongside Antonio and Gilbert.

Antonio watches the woman dance. Her hips sway hypnotically and she pulls her body onto the metal pole effortlessly. She pulls a leg around and lets her upper body slowly roll backwards. Her skin is sun-kissed, her legs look smooth to the touch, and her lips are full and pulling up in a small smile. Gilbert is star struck. She winks at him and he blinks in surprise.  
She is gorgeous, but Antonio feels that this show definitely isn’t meant for him.

Through the haze of three shots, Antonio can feel someone staring at him. He turns around and finds those same green (viridescent) eyes staring into his own. The man looks to the bathroom and then back to Antonio. He walks in the direction of the bathroom. It’s a clear invite, but what would this man ever want with Antonio? What made Antonio interesting?

Antonio scans the room, and sure enough there are the other two men from earlier, mingling, but only with the men, they’re sex workers. The blond seems to sense Antonio’s eyes on him, and turns to look at him, blue eyes analyzing for a moment before winking and flashing a cocky grin that would make Antonio roll his eyes under any other circumstance. Antonio steals Gilbert’s unoccupied and un-missed beer and takes a gulp (then another). Against his better judgement and everything that he had learned in high school sex-ed classes (which honestly didn’t describe anything beyond: “if you have sex you’ll die”), he walks to the bathroom.

“So, you came.” The man trails his eyes down Antonio’s body, Antonio’s face feels hot. The music from the club is muffled and the sink next to them drips slowly. The man gets closer and closer, inspecting Antonio, until he’s too close and Antonio is thoroughly intimidated and maybe slightly breathless. “I’m not free.” 

He can try to blame it on the alcohol, or maybe on how he hasn’t been laid in like two months, but Antonio can feel the heat coming from the other man’s body and he’s aching to just reach out and put his hands on the man’s waist.

“Then I’ll pay.” Antonio doesn’t say the words as solidly as he planned, his voice betrays how jittery he is.

“You have cash?”

“I have cash.” The man scrutinizes him with a frown identical to the one he was wearing outside. Christ, he’s cute, what the fuck is Antonio doing?

The man takes his hand firmly and leads him out of the bathroom and through the crowd. They go through a fire exit that doesn’t sound the alarm which leads Antonio to believe that the fire alarm is broken on this door for a reason and Antonio finds himself against a cold brick wall and warm hands against his groin and a hot mouth against his neck. 

“Shit.” They’re in a fucking narrow back alleyway and Antonio’s already getting hard.

Antonio’s back straightens as hands start fumbling at his belt, although fumbling isn’t the right word; the belt is undone within seconds. The man slides Antonio’s briefs down slowly, meticulously, until they’re below his knees and Antonio is completely exposed, right here, in the public, only boxes, trash bags, and a rusty fence separating the two of them from bustling traffic and what smells like someone smoking an entire pack of cigarettes at once. The man licks up from Antonio’s balls to the head of his cock and he finds that he doesn’t really care where they are.

“Fuck.” He drags his tongue back down and Antonio’s dick stiffens completely. He puts the head in his mouth and Antonio has to grab onto the man’s hair to stop his knees from giving out. The man quickly swallows Antonio’s entire cock and pulls up gently, dragging his soft lips against Antonio’s shaft and making Antonio wish that he had a name to say. This man is a stranger. He moves his head back down and then up again, pausing to glance shyly up at Antonio, Antonio’s heart nearly stops.

His brown hair, almost a deep red but with black tones, reflects the streetlight that dimly lights the alleyway. His eyes show nothing of the professionalism and coldness that Antonio was greeted with earlier, only lust and want, but it feels off, almost fake, like he’s acting, but damn it if he’s not doing a fucking fantastic job. Antonio wants, needs, to wipe away that fake-ness, needs to see this man’s true self, what and who he is when he doesn’t have to be an actor.

The man pulls his head away and swirls his tongue around the head of Antonio’s dick, massaging Antonio’s shaft with his fucking life-giving hands, hands that tease Antonio’s thighs and leave shivers running through Antonio’s abdomen, spasms in his muscles, weak legs.

“Dios, you’re so good.” No response.

There’s no pause for dirty talk, there was no foreplay and no attempt at foreplay, just straight to business. Every time there’s a sound that Antonio can’t help but make, the man reacts, almost reinvigorated, like he had expected Antonio to say something worse. Filthy whore, yeah slut, take it all you piece of shit. Any porno on a lonely Friday night always had it, some people got off on it, but it never made sense to Antonio. How could he look at this man, who has the face of an angel, whose jawline is soft but strong, whose eyes may be Antonio’s new favorite color, and tell him that he’s worthless?

Then Antonio’s cock is down his throat again and Antonio can feel the man’s nose press lightly against his stomach (which is such a minute detail but Antonio soaks it in), and he repeats himself, for ten minutes he repeats himself, for ten minutes Antonio’s soul gets sucked from his body and his thoughts dissolve into fuck, fuck, fuck and the man in front of him and nothing else. He doesn’t know this guy’s name and he’s about to cum.

“I’m- mierda, I’m close.” Antonio cums and the man continues massaging and mouthing until he spits to the side and stands up like nothing happened, like the knees of his fancy dress pants aren’t scuffed. 

Antonio’s face is flushed, he can’t get his breathing under control, and fuck it if he can’t look anywhere but this man’s god-damn eyes, but he’s self-aware enough to shimmy his pants back on and buckle them. The guy looks vaguely amused but his eyes are tired. 

“Fifty.”

Oh, fuck, Antonio will pay him and then never see him again, he’ll be gone. Antonio doesn’t know why that’s such a huge problem but it is.

“Let me return the favor.”

“That wasn’t a favor.”

“No, I’ll pay you-“

“You’d better.”

“I’ll pay you, but, let me…” Antonio puts a hand to the man’s face and the man draws in a quick breath in surprise, backing up instinctively, almost fearfully. Antonio would sacrifice anything he owned, pay any amount, just to see that fear leave this man’s eyes. His back hits the other side of the small alley. His cautious face is only an inch from Antonio’s, but Antonio thinks that kissing is maybe off-limits. Antonio lets his hands trail down the man’s body, rest on his hips and cup his dick lightly through his dress pants. Antonio leaves a kiss under his ear lobe. “Okay?”

Silence for a second, then a deep inhale. “Yeah.” He breathes the words into Antonio’s ear. He puts a hand on Antonio’s waist, feather-light, like a ghost. “Okay.”

Antonio kisses against his jaw and down his neck, rubbing gently at his crotch. The man shoves against him and mutters an almost-apology out of embarrassment. “What’s your name?” A weird thing to bring up a weird time, but this man smells like some expensive cologne that has Antonio swooning.

The man hesitates and sucks in a sharp breath as Antonio rubs him a certain way, Antonio repeats the motion. “Romano, it’s Romano.” It could be the Captain Morgan’s (Antonio’s pretty sure that it’s not) but the sound of Romano gasping in Antonio’s ear is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Antonio.” Antonio grazes his teeth underneath Romano’s jaw and Romano makes a noise that could almost be a whine, his hand grips Antonio’s waist.

Romano’s voice is hushed but vaguely threatening. “Just don’t leave marks.”

“Lo siento, do you want me to stop?” 

“Fucking, no.”

Antonio kisses where he had lightly bitten and moves his hands down Romano’s waist, unbuckling and sliding Romano’s pants then briefs off of him. Antonio spits in his hand and strokes Romano, who gets harder under Antonio’s touch and tilts his head for Antonio to have an easier time kissing his neck. Antonio wants to tell him how beautiful he looks but determines that saying that would be unwelcome at the very least and then determines that this is something that Antonio needs to say no matter the consequences.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You smell like alcohol.”

Antonio runs his thumb over the head of Romano’s dick and in reaction Romano jerks against Antonio’s hand, sucking air in through his teeth. Antonio presses an open-mouthed kiss on the other side of Romano’s jaw. “Now you do, too.” He whispers the words against Romano’s ear and Romano shivers, his whole body pressed against Antonio’s, firm and taut. Antonio has never said anything so ballsy in his entire life but he would say it again in a heartbeat, anything to get Romano to look the way he just did. 

Antonio bites at the spot under Romano’s ear, careful not to leave a bruise. Romano makes another sound, in between a gasp and a choke. He pulls Antonio closer and Antonio thinks that maybe Romano is about to kiss him, his eyes are real, they’re on fire, they’re burning away and leaving no room for being polished or businesslike, but Romano turns his head.

Antonio strokes Romano faster and revels in how Romano tries to control his reactions. One faster tug and Romano cries out, muffling himself with one hand so it sounds like only a hiccup. Romano throws his arms over Antonio’s shoulders and buries his face in the place between Antonio’s neck and shoulder. “Fanculo.” Romano stutters while speaking and Antonio knows that he’s close.

There’s a fog, a cloud of euphoria settling over Antonio and everything moved into place without conscious effort. One hand continues rubbing Romano’s shaft while the other tenderly grasps Romano jaw and leads his lips to Antonio’s own. Desperately, Romano kisses Antonio and breathes feverishly into the kiss as he shakes and cums and falls apart in Antonio’s hands. His body finally relaxes as he pants against Antonio’s open mouth. Romano doesn’t move.

“You kissed me.”

That fog or cloud or whatever it was that Antonio was using as an excuse for his stupid actions is immediately cleared away. “Uh, I don’t- I’m sorry I-“ Romano cuts him off with another kiss, teeth clashing, Antonio dissolves.

“Fucking jerk.” Romano practically growls the words as he pulls Antonio closer. Antonio kisses him back, sighing as he feels one of Romano’s hands thread through his hair and tug, feels Romano bite at his bottom lip.

Antonio goes for another kiss and is met with a finger against his mouth in a “hush” motion.

“Eighty.”

It was 50 before. Antonio doesn’t mention that. Romano redresses without a hint of embarrassment as Antonio counts out twenties. 

Antonio holds out the cash and Romano takes it, tucking it into his pocket. He looks back at Antonio, looks up, actually; Romano is a couple inches shorter, and his green eyes look much more hazel and sullen up-close. He’s beautiful in a way that Antonio has never seen beauty and Antonio wants to unravel it, take him apart piece-by-piece, carefully, without damaging a single fragment of his prepossessing soul. Damn, when did Antonio become a fucking poet?

Romano, looking torn, leans up and kisses Antonio again, hard, like it’s the only way he knows or maybe the only way he’s ever been kissed himself, maybe the only way he’s ever wanted to be kissed. Antonio wraps an arm around Romano’s waist like he’s been craving to since the start and gently kisses Romano in a way that liquefies the remaining tenseness in Romano’s muscles and makes Antonio’s toes curl.

Romano kisses him gently, tries it out, Antonio can feel the world grinding to a halt. He opens his eyes to see Romano’s looking at him, his mouth partially open, his hand caressing the side of Antonio’s face. He looks lost. Romano closes his eyes and presses one more kiss to Antonio’s mouth. Antonio lets himself live in the moment, memorizing the feeling of Romano’s lips, his waist, his stomach, pressed against Antonio’s, his face, which feels warm and reminds Antonio of looking at the sun.

Romano takes a deep breath with his face heart-breakingly close to Antonio’s. “Okay.” Another deep breath. “Okay.” Romano opens his eyes. He doesn’t grant any mercy, any chance to recover, his pupils are blown wide, his face flushed and his hair still flawless in its windswept style. Antonio opens his heart. Romano takes a step away.

“My real name isn’t Romano.”

“I know. Will I see you again?”

“Probably not.”

“Is there any way that I could see you again?”

“No.” Romano looks away. “Maybe.”

“How?”

Romano shrugs.

“Will you be here again?”

“One day.”

“Where will you be next?”

“I have to leave.” Romano turns around, Antonio grabs his hand, which is snatched away.

“Wait, please, I want to see you again.” He’s begging.

Romano looks at him with guarded eyes. “Everyone does.” Romano turns and heads back inside, letting the door close heavily behind him.

Antonio just hired a prostitute and then made out with him. 

Antonio goes inside after a few moments and goes straight to the bathroom. In the mirror he can see what a mess he is. His face is sweaty, his hair is sticking in every direction, and his eyes are unfocused. All he wants to do is go to sleep, maybe curled next to a warm body, maybe curled next to Romano.

A familiar face pushes through the swinging bathroom door.

“Antonio! Mon meilleur ami! Comment allez-vous?” French was already hard to understand without the incessant slurring.

“How much have you drank, Francis?”

“Beaucoup!”

“Alright, maybe it’s time to go.” Antonio leads Francis by the wrist to where Gilbert is sitting, at their original table, looking ecstatic.

“Francis is on the verge of blacking-out, are you ready to leave?”

Gilbert looks to Francis and laughs. “Yeah man, let’s go, you’re not gonna believe what happened to me.”

Antonio laughs morosely. “Yeah, me neither.”


End file.
